


Pardon Our Dust

by sabinelagrande



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Sneaking Around, Vanaheimr | Vanaheim, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanaheim is a bit boring. That is, unless you count the trolls and what goes on in back rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pardon Our Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [supermagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermagpie/gifts).



Vanaheim is, in Loki's estimation, fairly prosaic. Not necessarily boringly so; the food is good, but the banquets are overly long. Then again, maybe the problem is that Loki isn't cut out for the same level of cavorting as Thor et alia. Loki doesn't think he's the one deficient in this scenario.

To his left, Fandral is telling a story to a girl who has settled on his lap, Thor across from him smiling along; to his left, Volstagg is explaining something to Hogun using a skewer of meat to demonstrate key points. Across from Loki, Sif is looking back and forth between the two of them, goading Fandral for a moment, then correcting Volstagg the next.

To say she looks more beautiful than usual seems rather inappropriate, though Loki doesn't know quite why. Her beauty is not a revelation to Loki, who has seen the full measure of it on multiple occasions. Here, she presents herself differently than she does in Asgard. Loki is aware that Sif is on uncertain footing at home, still fighting to be recognized as a warrior. Her dress tends to the severe, on the rare occasions when she appears out of her armor, as if calling attention to her femininity will somehow tarnish her ability to be taken seriously.

Loki doesn't think she's _wrong_ , but he is a bit annoyed on her behalf.

At an occasion such as this one, the only Aesir present already support her fully, so Sif is dressed to the nines. Her dress is a pale blue, the fabric shimmering slightly in the candlelight; at her throat, it meets a wide gold collar set with sapphires. Gold bracelets twine around her upper arms, matching the gold ribbons braided into her hair and attached to her sandals. The effect is stunning, Sif resplendent, and there's something particularly appealing to him about the indulgence of it, the way she flaunts it when she can.

As Loki is considering her, Sif turns to him, and Loki makes no sign that he's embarrassed to be caught. She doesn't say anything, just lifts an eyebrow at him, and Loki has no doubts as to the identity of the person currently sliding a sandaled foot along the inside of his calf.

Loki is about to reach for more bread when there's a commotion outside, shouting; moments later, someone throws open the door to the banquet hall and shouts a warning.

The thing that makes Vanaheim fairly prosaic, as opposed to completely prosaic, is that they have a light troll problem this time of year.

Thor and his friends are out of their seats in an instant, snatching up their weapons. Loki could get up and fight, just for the look of the thing, but one troll has little chance of besting the combined might of Thor, the Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three. Based on the reaction of the other diners- or rather, the lack thereof- they've come to the same conclusion. 

Loki swipes the last piece of skewered meat while Volstagg isn't there to blindly gobble it up. 

The uproar outside is loud but brief, and when Thor comes back in, he is greeted with applause- which, naturally, he revels in. The Warriors Three are next, Fandral bowing ostentatiously, and Sif follows them in, setting her shield and weapon against the wall. Her clothing is intact, right down to the ribbons in her hair, but there's a long streak of blood across her cheekbone and fire in her eyes.

Loki's mouth goes dry.

Volstagg is already sliding into his seat and picking up his ale, ready to tell the story of their glorious, if short-lived, battle, Thor and Hogun at the ready to add embellishments and clarifications. Loki debates the merits of just grabbing Sif by the wrist and pulling her away, but he'd prefer to keep what he's about to do fairly quiet.

"Sif," Loki says, standing, and she turns her victorious smile on him, "might I have a word?"

"I don't see why not," Sif says cautiously. "Lead on."

Loki shows her out of the dining hall, silently motioning for her to follow him down the narrow hallway that runs along the length of it. At the end of the room, it fans out, and Loki steers them down the left branch, into what appears to be a disused storage room.

Sif runs a finger through the dust on one of the barrels. "Why do I feel as if I know why you brought me here?"

"You wouldn't have come if you didn't know," Loki says, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her against him, kissing her hard. "You must know what you looked like when you came in."

"If I knew you liked it so much, I'd kill a troll every day," Sif tells him.

Loki kisses the sensitive spot just below her ear; here she smells like the fresh sweat of battle, and it's intoxicating. "It might lose some of its appeal if I saw it that regularly."

"You do delight in novelty," she says.

"The familiar has its own appeal," he tells her.

"Well then," Sif says, grinning, as she slides her hands under his coat, "let's get familiar."

Some strategic rearranging of clothing, and Sif's back hits the wall, Loki lifting her up so she can settle her legs around his waist. She lets out a satisfied groan as he pushes into her, filling her up in one steady motion.

"I think you like killing trolls more than you let on," Loki says, thrusting into her in long, slow slides.

"What's not to like about a glorious victory?" Sif challenges. She makes a sound of frustration. "Faster than that, Loki, don't tease me."

"No patience?" he says, though he increases his speed. "I'd never have thought it from you."

"Patience is not among my virtues," she says, putting her arms around his neck.

"I'm much more interested in your vices," he replies, and she pulls him to her, kissing him with abandon.

Loki keeps kissing her, because Sif has no sense of decorum about these things; there's a full feasting hall not very far away, but left to her own devices, Sif will make as much noise as she pleases. Loki sometimes admires that about her, her lack of apology, but he sees the benefit of stealth, in a way that Sif never will outside of the battlefield.

" _More_ ," Sif says, when they stop for breath, her heels digging into his back.

"As my lady wishes," he replies, a slight mockery to his tone, and Sif merely rolls her eyes, writhing against him as if to urge him on.

Loki has no real interest in drawing it out, not when they're so close to discovery and so close to the edge. He pushes into her harder, faster, and Sif moans, loudly enough that he freezes for a moment, certain people will come running. 

For his trouble, Sif kicks him in the back.

He covers her mouth with his again, fucking her just the way she wants it, quick and rough, and in hardly any time she's gasping into his mouth, almost there, so very close to coming undone. He moves faster, as hard as he dares without potentially dropping her, and she arches her back, clenching around him as she comes. He doesn't last, just lets her pull him over, spilling deep inside of her.

For a long moment, all he does is breathe; Sif pulls him close and rests her head on his shoulder, making sated sounds and absently kissing his neck here and there. After a long moment, they part, Loki carefully lowering her so she can find her feet again.

"I'll make sure I kill another troll the next time we're here," Sif says, as they put their clothing back to rights, "if that is to be the result."

"Do you believe I need such encouragements?" he asks.

"No," she says, smiling, "but I believe you greatly enjoy them."

"That much I'll admit to," he tells her.

"How do I look?" she asks, brushing dust off of her dress.

One of the ribbons in her hair has moved just enough to be noticeable, and Loki considers leaving it there, leaving his mark on her. Another time he might, but for now, he gently tugs it back into place. "Impeccable," he tells her.

She reaches up, adjusting the position of his coat. "Better," she tells him. Loki catches her hands before she can lower them, holding her close so that he can kiss her one more time.

Vanaheim is, in Loki's estimation, fairly prosaic.

So he makes his own fun.


End file.
